Transmutation
by Snowden
Summary: Transmutation: turning one thing to another. From anger to calm, hatred to acceptance, ignorance to wisdom, revenge to redemption; a bitter, one-sided rivalry will become the catalyst to change a boy into a man. Short series, rated M for language and violence. Feel free to read and review.
1. Hatred

Transmutation

1 - Hatred

My knuckles stand out against the dark interior emanating from behind the glass. They become white, the strain of exertion putting pain through their joints, stretching the skin until it's tight against the bone. Still, the window won't budge. It didn't look like it was locked; merely the corrosion and accumulated grime of decades practically welded its seams shut.

"Damn," I muttered under my breath. "So this is the "famous" Professor Elm's Lab? Looks more like an old Rattata nest to me." I rebounded upon the sill, putting every ounce of strength into it. My muscles burst and gave out, and still the window barely budged a millimeter.

"Grr. I'll just have to come back with a hammer," I muttered to myself. For now, it's time to beat it. I turned and began sprinting away before anyone caught me spying in through the edifice. To my utter shock and chagrin, I didn't think of who might be snooping _behind_ me and ran head on into a solid object.

"Fuck! What the?!"

I was dropped to one knee, one hand rubbing my head and the other clutching my side. Before me another human being was sent toppling onto their butt from the impact.

A female.

"What are you staring at?" I growled.

She had to be the stupidest looking thing in existence. Her hat blossomed from her head like a toadstool, with two silly pigtails splitting out to either side. Overalls are the crude wardrobe choice of farmers and sewage workers, but she wore them all pretty-like, as if they were a fashion item. They were cut short, too, the rest of her legs covered in thigh-high socks that clashed with the rest of her tomboyish ensemble. What an ugly mish-mashed image she made of herself. And the most offensive feature of this woman? After recovering from the shock of the collision, she had the gall to _smile_ in my face.

"Hi! Sorry for peeping, but I thought it was strange for someone to be hanging out back here, so I got incredibly curious! I'm Lyra, what's your name?"

"Screw this," I spat out, and pushed past the woman, somewhat clumsily, so that I ended up bumping into her again.

A few more minutes, and I was safely out into the outskirts of town.

"Damn it!"

She'd better not tattle to the police about me! I'm going right back there, tonight. There's no way I'm passing up on the special stock of pokemon Elm just had delivered. Now, where can I pinch a hammer? And a towel, so I don't cut myself on the glass…

That night everything was going smoothly. There were no guards, no security systems, no one around. A few swings of the hammer made a mockery of my afternoon's efforts, and a jagged mess of the window. I clambered inside. The Pokéballs were in plain view, attached to a custom PC system. Two of the three slots were left occupied. Apparently someone had gotten lucky and took the first. No matter. It looked like it would be child's play to grab the remaining two.

"GrrrrRRRRRRARGH!" Okay, not child's play. The pokeball wouldn't budge from its slot.

I banged on the PC.

"Let go damn it!"

They must be magnetically locked to the machine. Even using the hammer as a pry bar, the bitchy little things would not move a millimeter. I banged the machine some more with the hammerhead, accidentally awaking it from sleep mode. It bleeped at me in a robotic, artificially friendly tone.

"To remove Magnetic Lock and Register this Pokémon, please enter Trainer Identification."

"Come on!" I put my hand to my jacket pocket, expecting to grab my wallet. There was nothing there. My pocket was empty.

"Damn it!"

It must have fallen out in the collision earlier.

I backtracked out the window, wincing as, despite the towel, more sharp bits of glass scratched into my sides.

"Where is it? Where is it?"

Despite all my searching, there was no hint or clue anywhere in the vicinity of the collision. What could possibly have happened to the damn thing?

"That girl!"

That ditz must have picked it up. Damn it! Damn it!

I can't remember being angrier in the past three years than I am now. Why does life have to shit on me most when I need things to just go right? Life, you suck!

I took a breath and calmed down. Even if it had my ID, the card itself was fake, a counterfeit. Even the name was a joke, taken from throwing darts at a periodic table of elements.

"So what if she calls me Silver?" I muttered. It's a cooler name than the insult that bastard put on my birth certificate.

Still, without the ID, how was I going to deal with the pokeballs? I mumbled it over while climbing back inside.

"Hey, PC?" I called out. "Are the pokeballs inside filled? Are the rare Pokémon actually inside of them?"

"Correct. However, without registering them with a Trainer ID, they will not be able to interact with the Universal PC System. Furthermore, such an act is considered a Class 1 Misdemeanor. Pleas-" but I had heard enough, and brought the hammer head slamming into the side of the apparatus. Sparks flew, the screen devolved into static, and the pokeballs dropped loose. Instantly an alarm sounded out.

"The f… They're lazy enough to leave the windows unguarded, but they rig the machine with security?!" I panicked. There was no telling how fast police or a worker would respond. I needed to get as far away as possible. Even if it was rare, these Pokémon weren't going to have any battle experience. And like hell they'd obey me before I whipped them into submission.

"Damn it!" I shouted for what seemed like the hundredth time today. In a moment of clarity I rushed back to the machine, swiped the first pokeball I saw, and sprinted back to the window, kicking over machinery, papers, computers, and anything else in my way.

That stupid woman, that stupid grade-school girl was the cause of all this. What a dork! A ditz! If I ever see her again, I'll make her pay!

…Or so I thought on that frenzied night.

One week later, in the woods outside Cherrygrove City:

"You were the one who took that rare Pokémon? Whatever, a bitch like you wouldn't know how to raise them to their full potential. I'll crush a weakling like you!" It felt good to vent. It would feel better to curb-stomp this pretender into the dust. Maybe I'll give her a punch myself if she dares to cry once I'm done with her Pokémon. I threw out my own pokeball, confident the week's worth of brow-beating would put my Pokémon on a different level compared to hers.

"Totodile!"

"You called me a bitch! That's really mean!"

She's not crying… yet. But she is pouting. Good. Anger. That's the first step to becoming stronger. Maybe she'll learn how to be tough, like me, in time. But she's a woman, so she'll never catch up.

"_Cynda_!" her Pokémon cried. It heard its trainer's distressed tone and leapt forward, as if it wanted to defend her. How pathetic. It'd better spend more time worrying about itself.

Judging by the red-hot bristle stickling across its back, it looks like a Fire type. Even better. I have a total type advantage. This is going to be cake-walk.

"Fire types are weak. They have no consistency. They rage and then they burn out, showing nothing for all their huff and puff. Totodile, Water Gun!"

My Totodile cringed at the sound of my voice, and then obeyed, letting loose a gout of water. Without even being told, the Cyndaquil dodged left. Totodile fired again, and again Cyndaquil dodged left.

"Sweep the stream across its path! Don't let it dodge! It doesn't need to hit hard, just enough to knock the damn creature down! Then you can hit it full force!" My Pokémon tried criss-crossing the field of battle with a Water Gun. Little spouts of water shot into the air, creating a soft mist. Yet, when the vapor disappeared, Cyndaquil was nowhere to be seen.

"Did it annihilate the Pokémon?" I wondered, astounded. "No, it dodged by digging. Hey, Totodile! What are you doing? Don't loaf around or I'll beat you again!" The Pokémon shrank under the threat. It had better not cower like that for long, or else I'll do way worse than beat it. Let's see how the weakling handles getting tossed into the wilderness for a few days, then we'll see if it wished it had fought harder.

"_Toto!_"

Ah good. It is afraid of me, like it should be. I'm the human. I'm the master. We're the fucked-up, arrogant bastards who rule this world. Pokémon are tools to be used by us. They should fear us. Fear will make them obey. Obedience will make them stronger. Strength will redeem their stupidity.

Yeah. There's nothing holy in this world. You want even a morsel of peace? You have to seize it with power. Humans, Pokémon, it doesn't matter. All that matters is the power to control your own destiny, even if it means taking power from others so they don't try to control _you_.

"Water gun into the hole! Flush it out!" I commanded.

"_Toto!_" It waddled over to the hole and sucked in a deep breath, preparing a major Water Gun.

"Cynda! Don't die!" the woman screeched. Is she stupid? Totodile will hurt Cyndaquil, brutalize it, but this won't possibly kill the Pokémon. They're tougher than that. Tougher than you, you stupid bitch.

"_Toto dooo! __**SQSHHHHH**_**!**" A jet of water flew into the tunnel, blasting rows of geyser in a straight line where it broke the tunnel up.

"Where are you headed?"

Where did Cyndaquil dig to? My eyes traced the line of geysers as they meandered across the field. The path narrowed. My eyes narrowed, then went wide. The geysers were headed straight towards me.

"WOAAAGH!" I tried jumping, in vain. The ground under me fell away. One foot sunk two feet underground, getting buried in the thick, heavy, damp earth. Cyndaquil popped out. I had to hold up my arms to avoid getting scratched in the face.

"Yegh!" I wanted to try to bat the pest away, but was too slow. It launched itself off my forearm and towards Totodile. My useless Pokémon wavered, and then began running away.

"Totodile! You get back here and finish that pest off or else!" The implied threat worked. Totodile turned and let loose several Water Guns. None could hit the nimbly-dodging Cyndaquil. It dashed into close range and unleashed an Ember. The attack was not very effective damage-wise, but was good enough to disorient the Water-type.

"It's right there! Get it!" I screamed.

"Cyndaquil! Finish it!" the girl yelped in excitement. Cyndaquil let loose a Fury Swipe. It slashed into Totodile's belly, pranced aside while dodging another Water Gun, and repeated the pattern. Totodile was at a loss, completely unable to keep up. Even as the ground around it turned into a miniature bog, Cyndaquil still managed to outmaneuver the Water Guns at point blank range and deliver additional Fury Swipes.

How?

HOW WAS THIS POSSIBLE?!

"Oh cool! Quick Attack and Fury Swipes together! You're smart Cynda! Keep going!" the girl urged her Pokémon onward.

It didn't take long. I could only watch in helpless rage as my Pokémon succumbed to the barrage of strikes from the unhittable opponent.

As Totodile lay defeated, I groused to myself.

She's staring at me. She's got that look in her eyes. The same look they all gave me. Not fear. Of course not. I was pathetic. I couldn't win. Not hate either. I could understand hatred. Being hated came hand-in-hand with being powerful.

No, she was pitying me. Looking down on me. Making me feel like a fucking kid.

"You bitch! Don't think this was anything but a fluke. You just happen to have a fucking genetically strong Pokémon. We'll see who gets who once I've had a chance to train!"

"How old are you?" the girl said. I sneered at her in reply. She continued. "You don't look any older than me. Kids like us shouldn't use that kind of nasty language."

"Fuck you!"

"Sorry. I look forward to battling you again… I just hope you can find some way of getting stronger without threatening your Pokémon."

"Worry about your own training. You'll need it," I said to her, in the most threatening, vile voice I could imitate.

Who does she think is? This woman is just like the rest of her accursed gender. Just like the rest of her accursed, bloody species. Just like the rest of this accursed, fetid universe. A sore spot, a blind, pathetic, weakling that refuses to acknowledge the way of things.

If she won't see her decrepit place in this accursed universe, she won't ever be able to change it. No one ever will. I'll have to show her. I'll become strong, the strongest trainer that ever lived. Better than Lance. Better than Professor Oak ever was. Better than the legendary Wash, Liya, Abram, Cynthia, Alder, and Monica. Even that god-trainer Loft. They'll be making myths about me, not him! Even better than the king of battling himself, the great Steven Stone. When I'm done NO ONE will fail to recognize and respect me. Then I can change things.

And I'll start with this ugly, embarrassing example of the human race right before me. I swear it. Soon…

* * *

That was back then. I had no idea. No clue. Over the course of the year, travelling all over Johto, trying to get stronger, to find stronger Pokémon, to beat them into obedience, to put them through hellish training so that they could become stronger, putting myself through hellish study to learn every aspect about the Pokémon world… I could never beat her. Six battles later, and she had bested me at every turn.

I insulted her. I put her down. I threw all my rage and wrath at her. It only made her pity me more. It only made her Cyndaquil, and then Quilava, and then Typhlosion, stronger, more determined to take me down. I couldn't figure it out. I couldn't see what was wrong with myself.

I feel so incredibly stupid, looking back on it. All the rage I spent blaming everyone but the person who deserved it, and all the hatred I directed towards the universe when I could not admit that the thing I hated the most was myself and my own life.


	2. Revenge

2 - Revenge

"What the hell are you doing? You didn't actually join Team Rocket did you?" I was aghast. There she was, that twerp, dressed head to toe in the black and white space-fashion uniform. "Are they so desperate they'll let even YOU into their ranks? Utterly ridiculous."

"Um, who, me? I'm, um… Luna Black! I'm a veteran Team Rocket member, and really strong, so don't mess with me! I'll mess you up! Yeah! So just go and play somewhere else kid, and let me just sneak- I mean invade the radio tower!" She donned a childishly fierce grin, which I presumed was supposed to intimidate me. What a load of shit. It's stupidly obvious who she really is, and the fact that she's trying to hide it from me means she doesn't respect me enough to recognize me… or else she's stupid beyond the physical limits of human idiocy. Then again, this is a woman we're talking about. Who knows what driveling logic runs through her head to make her think such a bluff was going to work?

"Lyra, you…!"

"Hey! Don't come closer, or I'll be forced to use my nasty, mean, cruel, powerful Pokémon!"

"Your Typhlosion doesn't scare me anymore. I know how to counter it," I told her defiantly.

"I don't have a Typhlosion!" she squeaked.

We were before Goldenrod Radio Tower and a crowd had gather at its entrance. A slew of Rocket Grunts were warding off the public, using weapons and Pokémon to hold them at bay. Police sirens were sounding all over the city, increasing with every minute. Those Rocket assholes were pulling something big. A few of them at the entrance noticed me and Lyra. They saw Lyra's get-up and started walking over, presumably to help their "comrade".

"You're not going to fool anyone here," I shouted, lunging forward suddenly, anger in my eyes. I only intended to drag her to the ground, but the shoddy fabric ripped apart in my hands. The girl was left half-naked, parts of her undergarments showing. Her hands shot up to her bra, throwing away any pretense of toughness.

"Why'd you do that?" she asked… but not in an accusatory manner. More like shocked… and curious.

The pair of grunts stopped midway, staring at the disrobed lady before them. Their astonished looks turned to laughter, and then to jeers. Once their humor was over, they jaunted up to us.

"Some pipsqueak think they can put on a T-shirt and a big fat 'R' and that lets them play with the big boys? How pathetic!" the senior of the grunts exclaimed. "I think we need to teach the children a lesson. How about you, Jedon?"

"Yep, babies belong in a crib. Hospital crib. Let's send them there, Vice."

"Vice" and "Jedon" readied their pokeballs. Just from a casual glance, they had two pokeballs each, and one held a police baton in his pocket. That's all they were armed with. I could settle this one on my own.

"You're right that she's a baby, but that's still infinitely better than mindless trash like you," I mouthed off to them. This was a street brawl, not a Pokémon match, and I wasn't about to give them the chance to pull a fast one on me. Feraligatr was out and charging them within a second. Jedon didn't even have time to release his pokeballs before his arm was caught in my Pokémon's powerful jaws. There was an audible 'snap!' as his forearm bone was broken. Even still, the asshole would get off easy with just a bone fracture. Feraligatr was holding back. If I had ordered it, the grunt would be clutching a bleeding stump right now.

"Golbat! Raticate!"

"Heh." The other Rocket had let out his Pokémon, which darted off in different directions. "Golbat!" I called, releasing my own poisonous bat. The two faced off, firing off Confuse Rays and Glares before engaging in mangled, mid-air combat. The oversized rat changed vectors suddenly and ran hissing towards me.

"Flamethrower!" The Raticate was brought to a halt by a searing-hot billow of ash and fire crossing its path. Its hissing reached a crescendo.

I took a glance over my shoulder. Lyra had abandoned modesty and was busy directing her Typhlosion. Why the hell was she defending me? I don't need help from a weakling like her!

Yet, it was impossible not to take advantage of it. The one called Jedon managed to release a Koffing. The trainer and its Pokémon wrestled with Feraligatr, to no avail.

"I want him alive," I commanded my Pokémon. Meanwhile, my Golbat disengaged from its aerial combat to harass Vice. When the enemy Golbat pursued, it received an Ice Punch and Thunderpunch to the face, simultaneously. Typhlosion and Sneasel, respectively, KO'd the thing.

It was a matter of a single minute before the criminals were forcefully subdued. My sniveling, bleeding-heart, unwanted ally merely wanted to chase them off. I had other ideas, and personally beat their faces in with my bare fists. My fury only relented when blood starting painting my knuckles.

"You're too brutal," Lyra said reproachfully.

"You're too soft," I spat back at her. I grabbed the fallen baton from the asphalt. "What the hell do you think this is? It's a weapon! They weren't going to just faint our Pokémon and leave it at that. We'd be lucky to make it to the hospital, instead of a morgue! This is real life, you dumb, damned girl!"

She shrank back away from me, scared of my shouting and my waving around of the heavy metal stick.

"Silver…"

"What!"

"Why are you fighting them?" she asked softly. I kept my lips sealed shut. There's no way I'm going to explain myself to her. She wouldn't understand it, dumb as she is, let alone empathize!

"You're as bad as them, but you still fight them," she said. "It makes me think…"

"What?!" I shouted. She wilted and didn't continue her line of thought.

"What?" I repeated, in a more level voice.

After a few aborted utterances, she finally gathered herself.

"It makes me think you're fighting for something… or someone. A cause. You're really, really mean, and use all kinds of foul words and you treat your Pokémon poorly. But I don't think you're selfish, or greedy, or malevolent. Maybe you're just angry. Why are you angry with them? With me?"

"Damn you," I said, gritting my teeth. "Don't you start that quack on me. Get out of here! Get away from me!"

"Lyra!"

That dork appeared out of the radio tower entrance. He was preceded by the flying bodies of several grunts, catapulted skyward by his Azumarill.

"Ethan!"

That idiot. He's no better than her. Too much wise-cracking, joking, and goof-balling. Overactive imagination sometimes. I'd smash his face in if I could find an excuse. The pair of dweebs linked up, arm in arm, celebrating their reunion like it was their wedding anniversary.

"I've got the a key card," he said, showing off a badge on a neck-strap. "It goes underground. We should go give this to the police, I think it's where they're keeping the hostages."

"What were you doing?"

"Ha! I was talking to Trenton, the radio engineer, about the Lake of Rage stuff, and then all the Rockets stormed into the building. We hid out until their numbers thinned and then I fought my way back down here. I met a strong one, Pluton he called himself. Still beat him, and pulled this off of him."

"You didn't kill anyone, did you?" Lyra asked.

"Of course not! I'm the best, after all!"

"Heh, you braggart. Anyways, that card! Let's go rescue the hostages!"

"No, we should let the police do that. The Rockets there might have guns," Ethan explained.

"All the more reason! If they have guns, they might shoot the hostages!" Lyra was looking desperate. She turned to me, as if expecting support for her cause.

As if!

Seriously, brat, you should be worried about yourself if the bastards are packing heat. Your Typhlosion is freakishly strong, I'll admit, but that won't save it from an ounce of lead puncturing its braincase!

"We need to go help them as fast as possible!"

"Um…. well…. okay." The boy hung his head, probably mulling over how suicidal he felt. He turned towards me.

"Hey! You're Silver, right?"

"Yeah, what of it, twerp?"

"Ah! Hostile as always… Um, could you contact the authorities for us? We're heading straight for the Goldenrod underground. Tell them the Rockets might have prisoners."

"Piss off. I'm going hunting," I said over my shoulder, as I began stomping towards the tower.

"Hunting? For what?" Lyra called out.

"For revenge," I said.

* * *

Right. Revenge. For what? For something that had nothing to do with these low-level foot soldiers? Did I really expect that bastard to be there? Perhaps not. But the executives might know where he's hiding out. They might have a clue. Then I could track him down and give him the come-uppance he's been owing me for fifteen years now.

I didn't know much back then. Well, I was smart, and clever, and well-schooled. I knew a lot of facts, trivia, street smarts. I could've written a book on Pokémon battles and tactics. No, what I lacked was wisdom, the ability to see things clearly, what had to be valued, what had to be protected, and what could be let go. My shitty childhood, my need for revenge, those are things I could have parted with. I didn't find out this truth until it was too late.


	3. Power

3 - Power

The ruined remains of machinery lay piled all around me. In the distance, what was once a radio tower sat in a jumbled heap halfway across the field. The road back to Mahogany Town was blocked off by burning vehicles. Although, it wouldn't matter even if it was clear, the bridge further on had been ripped in half by a Waterfall attack. Half the subterranean base had collapsed in on itself, and the other half was on fire. You would think such a dangerous environment would be the last place a sane human wanted to stick around, but I wasn't perfectly sane. This literal hellhole was exactly where I wanted to be.

"Where is he?" I spat out through gritted teeth.

The half-alive form of Archer tried dragging itself away. I put my boot on his ankle, halting any further egress. The so-called "man" yowled in pain.

"Where is he?" I demanded again, voice cold, nerves tense, mind focused.

He whimpered. My boot came off, and again he tried to escape, with all the speed of a Slugma. Obviously pain wasn't teaching this fool to respect me. Time to change tactics. I let him continue crawling, and kept pace alongside him. Occasionally his head turned aside, looking at my boots and ankles, as if expecting to be kicked and thrashed at any moment.

Feraligatr was opposite me, also stalking Archer.

"Where do you think you're going?" I called out. My boot went flying, aimed at his face. He flinched. The boot missed, deliberately, swinging by a mere inch in front of his brow. "Gonna go cry to your boss? Huh? Can't handle a little teenaged brat? Hell, even sissy Lyra is scarier than you. Looking at you now, who'd think you were the great Archer, senior admin of the fearsome Team Rocket. I don't whether to laugh or wretch, so I think I'll just beat you up some more."

I took a step, planted straight into the small of his back, and walked over him. His chest flattened to the ground, and he heaved a sputtered, sickened breath. I turned and brought myself down to his level, grabbed him by the hair, and jerked his head upward.

"Where is he?"

"G… g… go to hell," he gasped.

"You're pretty loyal for a criminal. Why's that? You think he'll protect you? You think he'll appreciate your silence?"

Blank, thoughtless eyes met my own.

"You don't know a thing about Giovanni," I told him. I force his head to tilt aside, showing him the collapsed radio tower. "You're already a failure in his eyes. He won't tolerate shit like that. You're dead. Doesn't matter if I let you off now. Doesn't even matter if I haul you in front of a police station. He'll find you, and he'll erase you, just for using his organization and his name for your own ends. The fact that you failed; let yourself get beaten by a kid, that's icing. You're dust, that's all you are now. Dust. So maybe your only hope here is to open your pie-hole and tell me where he is, and I'll take him out."

"He's u-"

Archer tried gasping something, but it was too soft, I couldn't hear it. I put my ear up to his mouth, to try to make out what he was saying.

"Up your ass," he whispered, and then lunged, catching my ear between his teeth. Pain shot through my cartilage.

"FUCK!" I clutched my ear, strolled away, and then came flying back in vengeance. A great big soccer kick met his ribcage dead-on, flipping him onto his back. A second great swing brought my foot into the side of his head.

"FUCK YOU!"

I fell on top of him, clutched his throat in my hands and began squeezing.

With a last big heave, he threw up his arms and ripped my hold loose. For a short minute we were stuck in stalemate. Our muscles tensed, strained, unable to gain leverage while our strength lasted. His lips twisted into a smile.

"Die you son of a bitch!" I roared.

"Funny, hearing that from a real son of a bitch!" he said. In fury I bore down, renewing my stranglehold and putting my weight into it. Archer sputtered, flailed, but he no longer had the strength to oppose me.

That's it. Die. Die! Go to hell you pissant monster! You deserve this! The countless atrocities you've committed upon equally atrocious humans and Pokémon makes you a fair target for my wrath! You want to beg? You want to call me amoral?! Fuck off! You and everyone else are perfect examples of what a fucking farce morality is. The only thing that matters is strength, and right now, I'm stronger than you. My Pokémon beat your Pokémon. And I'm going to kill you.

"Stop!"

"Fucking die!"

"Get off him!"

Two hands grabbed me by the shoulders and lifted me straight up. I found myself being twirled around and thrown to the ground. A skyscraper of a man towered over me. I scooted backwards, into the relatively safe vicinity of Feraligatr.

"Lance," I said, reacting with disgust.

"What were you doing?! Did you intend on killing this man?!"

"So what if I was? He's not innocent, he's got blood on his hands. I'm just turning his shitty world view back on him!"

"That's no excuse for murder!" Lance fired back.

"Fuck it! Feraligatr! Finish that scum!"

I sent Feraligatr charging in. An ultraball went flying through the air, releasing a Dragonite. The Dragon-type was huge, dwarfing even my brutish Pokémon. It met Feraligatr with both arms and shoved it backwards, with enough force to send Feraligatr halfway back to me.

It was only a Force Palm. This dopey giant thought it could play nicely, stop us without hurting us. How naïve.

"Ice Fang!" White-misted breath poured out of my Pokémon's maw. It charged forward again, lunging and snapping at the Dragonite's limb. The Dragonite instinctively bobbed, and then rolled its torso, bring its limb down on Feraligatr's head like a sledgehammer.

"Hydro Jet!" I yelled. Feraligatr aimed a Hydro Pump directly into the ground, propelling it upwards like a rocket. The same motion caught the Dragonite full in the belly, lifting both of them skyward. Feraligatr followed through, using a further water-jet to boost it even higher. The pair was three stories into the air now.

"Seismic Toss!"

"Thunder!"

Feraligatr grappled Dragonite and tried to whip it around like a sling. Dragonite countered the motion with a powerful flap of its wings, arresting the arc and countering Feraligatr's motion mid-air. The clouds above us lit up, crackled, and an enormous column of light dropped down onto the combatants. An ear-splitting crack rang out, and it was over.

My Pokémon was fried.

Damn it!

"Are you done?" Lance asked.

I gritted my teeth.

"Feraligatr, Crunch!"

Lance's focus shifted upwards, taken aback that Feraligatr could have survived the Thunder attack. Whether my Pokémon managed to stay conscious in the face of a super-effective electrical bolt from the heavens, I didn't know or care. I only needed the momentary distraction.

Two more flashes of light. Granbull and Sneasel materialized in front of me. Together we sprinted forward in formation.

"Jaws, stall the fag; Sneasel, help me rip up the Rocket shit!"

Lance looked down in shock. A mean, pink pile of muscle was headed straight for him, practically in his face already. Meanwhile, my target was still splayed out on his back. I scooped up a rock, and Sneasel brandished his claws. We were mere feet away. It would be quick, almost painless, nothing like the agonizing death I had originally planned for this monster, but it'd have to do.

"Stop!" Lance shouted.

"No."

"Stop him!"

The air in front of me exploded. My ears rang, as if a gun had been fired off an inch away from them. The ground rose up, or rather, a cloud of dust, dirt, and rock formed a wall between me and Archer. A trench separated me from the Rocket admin, cutting off my approach.

The same phenomena blasted the ground behind me as well. I was cut off.

A shadow covered me and Sneasel. I made the mistake of looking up instead of dodging out of the way, and so a massive body dropped on top of me, flattening me to the ground. A clawed hand found my skull and held it firmly to the dirt.

A cry of pain escaped my lips. My eyes struggled to turn upwards, trying to glimpse my assailant. Out of my peripheral vision I saw a bulky orange body.

Another Dragonite. It must've used Extreme Speed to cut in front of me, plow the trenches, and block me from reaching Archer. Now it had me pinned and I couldn't move a muscle. Sneasel, arms pinned to his side, was caught in the Dragonite's other claw.

A third Dragonite had Granbull by the nape of the neck and held aloft. The angry mutt kicked and barked, but could do no more.

The Thunder-seared form of Feraligatr hit the ground a little ways away. My Pokémon groaned in agony. Not fainted, but worse, critically injured and disabled.

I had failed.

Again.

"You bastard!" I screeched. "Let me go! Let me go! Let me go!"

The Dragonite pushed harder, not allowing me to even face the Dragon-master and verbally rip him a new one.

"Silence!" Lance shouted in a commanding, reverberating voice. He approached my position and kneeled down on one knee in order to address me. "Can you fathom, can you even imagine how much trouble you are in?" he addressed me.

"I don't give a fuck. I've been trouble from the moment I was born."

"Your youth is the only reason I am not throwing you to the courts. After seeing this," he waved to the destroyed base, "they wouldn't hesitate to try you as an adult. How long do you think a runt like you would last in prison? Certainly not the twenty years you'd get for attempted murder!"

"I don't care! Let me go! He's getting away!" I screamed.

Indeed, Archer had recovered enough to begin crawling away on his hands and knees. A quick signal to one of the Dragonites and the criminal boss was bear-hugged, no freer than me.

"That man will get his punishment in due course, but not from you. A child like you has no right to be passing judgment on others. You aren't God," Lance proclaimed.

"No, I'm a demon that he and his filth helped create," I spat back.

A look of righteous and supreme anger flitted across the adult's face.

"You're no demon, you fool. Just a brat with a sad past and a temper tantrum. Oh, don't you dare think you're entitled to the 'You don't understand me!' argument. I know everything. Your father, your mother, the abuse, the abandonment, your obnoxious need for revenge, your ill-treatment of your Pokémon to further your own selfish desires…"

Fuck! Who is this guy? Who the hell does he think he is?! How the hell does he know about my father!?

"You are weak."

"No I'm not," I protested.

"You are. Why are you the one laying on the dirt, with your defeated Pokémon surrounding you, and I'm the one standing victorious? For all your violence," he again motioned to the base I had helped reduce to rubble, "You are still nothing compared to even a middling gym leader. Why do you think that is?"

"Because I haven't trained enough," I retorted. "Just give me the same amount of time you've had, I'd shove that stare right up your-" and I was cut off by his hand slapping my cheek.

"I could give you a hundred lifetimes, you'd never get stronger," he said. Then, he leaned in close, very close, so he could whisper in my ear.

"You do not love your Pokémon and that makes you weak. You will never beat me, or your father, if you cannot learn to trust your own comrades."

Lance walked around and placed a hand on Feraligatr's hind. The trainer stared down with a look of pity upon the big, blue brute as he breathed heavily.

"This Pokémon was raised improperly. It has a dangerous mindset and has become habituated to lethal violence. It cannot be allowed to live, or else it would endanger the lives of Pokémon and humans alike. I will be taking it with me in order to euthanize it," he declared.

My eyes widened.

"You can't," I uttered.

"I can, and you can't stop me. That's the nature of things, isn't it?"

He retrieved Feraligatr's pokeball from the ground beside me and recalled the injured Pokémon.

"Dragonite, release him, we're leaving."

"You bastard!" As soon as I was free I scrambled forward, ready to throw what pathetic little strength I had at the man. The Dragonite reacted, catching me by the shirt and holding me back. When I threatened to rip loose, it simply caught me by the shoulders and held me down.

"Give it back! You can't do that! You can't kill my Pokémon!" I cried.

Lance halted.

"Why not?" he asked without turning.

"Because it's my Pokémon! That's theft! Give him back, he's mine!"

"Terrible answer," he said and renewed his departure. One Dragonite lifted Archer onto its back and followed. The second recalled into its pokeball, and the third placed itself between me and its trainer, to ensure I wouldn't attack him again.

"Stop! Come back!"

He didn't. I stutter-stepped forward, not enough to provoke the body-guard but enough to keep up.

"Please! Don't kill Feraligatr! It's murder! Murder! Doesn't that mean anything to you? What kind of moral fag are you if you murder my Pokémon, huh?"

"I don't relish this task, nor do I do it for revenge, anger, hatred, or greed. My motive is purely to safeguard future innocents, including yourself."

"Feraligatr wouldn't hurt me! Give him back!"

"No."

"It's wrong!"

"It's what has to be done," Lance called back, now climbing the broken stairs leading to the surface. I was left at the base, staring upwards.

"Please!"

I didn't remember when I had started crying, but now the tears were welling around my eyelids.

"You can't… you can't punish Feraligatr for being a brute! I made him that way! I taught him to be a thug! To make him stronger! It's my choice, my fault! Punish me, but don't go fucking murdering my Pokémon for such a stupid reason!"

Lance stopped.

He finally turned to face me, looking down upon me. The image of God before Hella came to my mind, eyes like lightning bringing judgment down upon the hapless sinner.

"I am on my way to Indigo to be sworn in as the Pokémon League CEO. Do you know why I am taking this job?"

I couldn't answer that, or even respond with a "why?". My mouth just gaped a little.

"Because a fool like you who believed in power beyond all consequence allowed his Pokémon to rampage during a match, killing 15 Pokémon and 124 people. This fool, this Grey Forester, was not unique. There are many others like him, infesting the league from top to bottom. The former CEO enabled them. I am being called in to raze this entire corrupt system to the ground.

Pokémon are not born evil. They take it from us, their trainers. Those who can't accept the responsibility of caring for their Pokémon should just let them loose. The world does not need such weak-willed war-mongers lording over other creatures."

He tossed Feraligatr's pokeball down. It landed with a dull thud amidst a nearby pile of concrete blocks. Without pause or thought I rushed over and collected the device. Relief washed over me.

"Here is your punishment," Lance announced. "Prove me wrong. Prove that you aren't an idiot, that you can treat your Pokémon with respect, and humans with mercy. Do that, or Arceus help me, I will bring the full force of the justice system down upon you, and you will NEVER see your Pokémon again!"

* * *

I was scared, then. Might made right, I was taught this since I was first capable of understanding words. Those with power made the rules, and the rules had to be adhered to. I had spent my whole adolescence rebelling against that notion. Without thinking it through, without understanding it, totally ignorant, I had fallen right into its trap. I had pursued power for myself in order to break the grip _that_ bastard held over me.

Lance beat me handily, without effort. His power awed me. But more than his victory, were his words. I did not want to listen to him, but out of appreciation for the difference in power between us, I did listen, or, at least, tried. I was young, I still did not fully comprehend his words.

What I knew for sure was that he made me feel weak. By some miracle, I stood there, in the rubble of the base, with the rain setting in, and actually took the time to contemplate what Lance had told me.

"_You do not love your Pokémon and that makes you weak._"

This was my first inkling that power was not something gained by violence, but something else, something unfathomable, something I had yet to experience, given or received, from any human or Pokémon: "love".


	4. Weakness

4 - Weakness

Crobat plunged from the sky, enacting one final, desperate assault upon the Politoad. Brave Bird hit right on target, crashing into the body of the opponent with enough force to send them both bowling end over end. However, when the dust settled into the mud-blighted battlefield, only the green toad rose from the mound of muck. My Pokémon could not be recognized, splayed out and fainted within the mush.

It's over.

After everything I've been through, it wasn't enough. My best could never compare to her. It's not fair. She doesn't care about winning, she has no intention to put her power to use, her only aim and goal in this battle is to have fun. Her training regime could, at best, be described as "lackadaisical", and her tactical genius was a myth created by exaggeration.

Yet she is my superior, and this battle is the undeniable proof. My six Pokémon are knocked out, and all but one of her six are healthy and ready to fight a battle that is now over. By some miracle, I managed to knock out her Smeargle, the weakest amongst her monsters. The rest were clearly capable of defeating any one of mine in single combat. Typhlosion would easily handle all but Feraligatr, even if they were to charge that fiery behemoth at the same time.

I fell to my knees.

"What is the difference between you and me?" I asked in a shocked utterance. Lyra, in her usual quaint fashion, shrugged and skipped over to my side of the field.

"What's wrong? You're usually not so quiet after getting beaten. Where's your boasting and threats? Bring them on! I've got some nice comebacks this time, thanks to Ethan! Hey… Silver? Are you ill or something? Come on…"

Her diatribe meant nothing to me. Words are meaningless. We are the sum of our actions, we…

I started. The touch of skin and hair fell over my cheeks, down my shoulder and arms, wrapping me up in a tight embrace.

"You look like you need a hug," Lyra said softly. Her body lay draped over me, like a child's blanket, offering warmth and protection.

What is she doing?

I'm frozen. I can't fathom or reason out her action, can't comprehend what she has to gain by tackling and holding me like this. This is a hug.. right? Isn't this some kind of crass gesture one lust-addled idiot gives to another? That can't be right. There's no way this woman would fall for me. She and I are rivals, enemies. I have shown nothing but scorn and hatred towards her, and she nothing but pity and naïve sportsmanship towards me. I'm not so socially daft as to miss the signs of affections, and what little I've seen of those from her are all directed at the other idiot, Ethan. So why is she hugging me?

Yet with the moments passing by and my mental faculties lost to the illogic of the situation, my baser instincts came loose, and sighed.

'It's not a question of why she's embracing you, dimwit,' I realized, 'it's why are you allowing it?'

I grasped her wrist. I had the notion to throw her off, yell at her, defend myself from her pitying advance, and declare her a weakling given over to sentimental emotion. That notion evaporated as my fingertips closed over her thin arm. Instinct held sway over my actions and they refused the command of my shocked ego. Instead of repulsing the girl, I tugged her tighter.

This feels weird. It feels awful, in the sense that I'm allowing such a silly, sentimental gesture to invade my being and cheer me up. It feels wonderful, like sacrilegious bliss, like a lethal dose of sugar... It feels…

…like Hell.

It's the hell of bringing heaven down to earth and forcing it upon the damned child. Making them aware of the negativity that encompasses their being, and bringing them to shame and guilt for their behavior thus far. It's showing me that I had always known what was wrong and evil and amoral, but without anything else to judge against, I had assumed all the world was- not black and white, nor shades of grey- but black and blacker, completely saturated with selfishness, sin, and cruelty. Engulfed in that darkness, and seeing nothing but an endless cycle of cruelty stretching far into the future, I had cast aside my hopes and assumed the role of an annihilator. Set against a universe of absolute, all-encompassing sin, the only recourse, the only way to improve the situation was to destroy it- destroy everything. Reduce it all to nothingness. Life becomes a binary of evil and non-evil; get rid of the evil and only serene void remains.

A world without humanity was what I desired, because humanity was the only species self-conscious of their selfishness; yet given the choice, they still pursued their own interest to the exclusion, and pain, of others. My ill feelings were universal, but my goals became entangled in a singular, specific purpose- to visit this philosophical conclusion upon the one who most exemplified the corrupted human spirit-

My father.

I had convinced myself that the world knew and was ashamed of itself, and that this cancerous outgrowth named Giovanni knew it could not and should not continue to exist, and so forged itself its own suicide weapon- a son. Made to shoulder all of his twisted expectations and lingering hatreds, abandoned to the winds of fate, I knew from that cold November day onward my purpose in life was to annihilate him and all that he represented.

Life itself was hell.

Yet with a simple, stupid hug, I was shown kindness, and that was enough to completely obliterate my world view.

"I'm weak," I moaned.

"No you aren't. You're one of the strongest trainers I know," she countered.

"No, _I _am weak," I repeated.

She held me still, not arguing or making vain attempts to assuage me with words. She simply allowed me to unearth the feelings I had been bottling for four long years.

"Lance is ridiculous. Absurdly strong," I said. "My Pokémon wouldn't stand a chance against his. Why? He told me that strength comes from the bond between a trainer and their Pokémon. How does that even work? I don't get it. But he's strong, so he must know it's true. What does that mean for me? Are my Pokémon weak because I don't love them enough? I don't get it. I don't know how to love a Pokémon. You can't fuck them, or marry them. That's absurd."

I gripped Lyra's arms tighter, like a vice, probably hard enough to hurt her, but she didn't complain.

"Then… that means… it's true for people, too, right? You can't be strong unless you're loved. I never got that. Who the hell was supposed to love me? How was I supposed to know what to do, how to be strong, if damn-all no one was there to support me? Doesn't that universal precept kind of shit on everyone who had shit-for-parents like I me?!"

"Not everyone's lucky enough to be loved from birth," Lyra said. "But if you want love, you can always show it to others, and eventually, somebody will return it. I love you, you know," she said calmly.

I leaned my head back and tilted, to stare into her amber eyes. I was amazed.

"You… love me?" I uttered incredulously.

"Why so shocked?" she said. "Not every love has to be romantic. I love you because you're my rival. You and I have a special bond. My life wouldn't be the same without you in it. I wouldn't be who I am today if I hadn't met you. So I'm glad our lives crossed each other's. I think we've been better off for meeting, and fighting, and growing up together. Even if it's not been cheerful and peaceful all the way through, I never hated the memories I've created with of you. So, I guess I love it. And I love you."

"You're… insane," I said.

"Sanity is for grumpy people, so ha!" she responded with a goofy grin. "Ethan taught me that one!"

I picked myself off the grassy field. The sky was beginning to cloud over. It would be dark soon.

"I'm on my way to Indigo Plateau," Lyra said. "Do you want to join me? Victory Road is supposed to be pretty dangerous, I wouldn't mind you tagging along, it'd be safer- and fun!"

"No." I shook my head, and then focused my attention on the mountains looming in the distance. To the north, the distinct indigo-hued peaks that gave Pokémon League its namesake rose majestically. They ascended in ever-increasing folds, trailing off to the north and west. Far away on the western horizon, a single monolith clawed its way into the upper atmosphere- Mt. Silver. But my gaze, and thoughts, turned eastward, where the mountains descended into rolling hills blanketed in forests. Somewhere amongst the oaks and maples and firs, hiding amidst the foliage and curled up upon itself, lay a small and unassuming city.

"I'm going home."

"Huh? You have a home? I thought you just wandered around."

"Everyone comes from somewhere, dork."

I gathered my belongings, hefted my backpack, and began setting out. Lyra lilted after me for a bit, before biting her lips and letting me alone. I can't imagine what's going through her mind, what she thinks of me. In the past, I wouldn't even care. Now? It's not that I don't care, it's that I don't want to confront it. I'm afraid that I've become what I set out to destroy- a monster, a human monster. If I were to stop and contemplate how Lyra and Ethan must view me the same way I view my father- with prejudice, hatred, fear, and ire- the shame would drag me down to the earth, into the grave, never to rise again. I need to cast away everything, and focus on my one goal.

So many years I've been traveling. All to find something: Pokémon. Power. Answers. Information. None of it seemed like enough, and at every turn, every setback, and I caught myself feeling hollow and unprepared. I knew, in the back of my mind, one method that would absolutely guarantee a meeting with the mob boss. Yet, I had delayed and procrastinated, convinced I wasn't ready.

The sun set, the forest highway was somber and quiet, save for the occasional cargo truck rumbling along. My Pokémon were in their balls, slowly recuperating from the battle. I was alone- like always.

Now I know what I was waiting for, all this time. I wasn't searching for the strength to defeat my father. I was searching for the questions I needed to confront him with when I met him again, and the courage to ask them.

Late in the night, my feet sore from hiking and my ego sore from begging for rides from random drivers, I was at last greeted with the sight of urban lighting.

Viridian City.

"Mom, Dad," I said to myself. "I'm coming home."


	5. Betrayal

5 - Betrayal

"Ah, so the prodigal son returns."

_Of course_ he would already be here, I didn't need to bother causing a ruckus and waiting for him to check on his precious hoard. The authorities had done a good job of locking up the old Rocket headquarters beneath the gym, but they didn't know about the secret vault hidden underneath the Pokemart. Here lay all the cumulative wealth acquired by the crime syndicate in its twenty years of operation: jewels, electronics, weapons, Pokéballs and Pokémon, priceless artifacts and artwork, paper documents and hard drives detailing every sinister endeavor, and most preposterously, a cubic block of cash six feet on a side.

My father, Giovanni, was sitting at a miniscule desk, hunched over a computer screen, notes strewn wildly around, and a forest of empty whiskey bottles clustered to one side. He had yet to turn and face me, not even acknowledging my presence with a glance.

"Well! I don't imagine you're here to beg for money, but take some if you want. There's enough to spare." With a careless laugh he picked a stack of bills from the mound and tossed it at my feet. That was 500,000 Pokedollars, min, lying on the floor. My lip quivered.

"You've got enough money in this room to buy Saffron City- and can't spend a dime of it, can you?" I told him with a sneer.

"Such is the life of a criminal mastermind on the run from the law," he countered, finally rising from his seat, turning, and facing me head-on. His glare was the same as I remembered it: contemptuous and conceited. In his hand he palmed an Ultra Ball. "Of course I know why you're here. Let's get this formality over with. Rhydon!"

"Feraligatr!" I shouted, gaining the attention of my Pokémon, just before releasing him into the cramped basement.

They fought. It was violent. Brutal. Not a battle between trainers, but enemies. The Pokémon understood that fainting the opponent wasn't enough, they were expected maim, injure, and kill. I shouted my commands, Giovanni barely uttered a word. It became one-sided, Feraligatr's Aqua-Tail was devastating to the Ground-Rock type.

Rhydon back stepped, taking another blow from the water-borne blunt mace that was Feraligatr's appendage. It roared in vain defiance, before being bull rushed by my Pokémon and thrown to the wall. When it dared to stand and rise again, I ordered Feraligatr to use Hydro Pump, continually, relentlessly, until the opponent's will to fight was broken- or until the pokemon was dead, whichever came first.

Rhydon slumped against the corner, unmoving. I couldn't tell if it had blacked out or stopped breathing, but regardless, it had ceased to be a threat.

"Who's next?" I yelled. My father shrugged, lazily tossing three Pokémon out at once. Kangaskhan, Nidoqueen, and Persian.

Feraligatr rushed straight through the Kangaskhan, flipping her over his shoulder, and proceeded to tackle the Nidoqueen. The latter's Thunderbolt flew awry, blasting the ceiling light and swamping us all in deep darkness.

The animalistic grunting, the crack of bones, and the scraping of armor and claws across the concrete floor; these sounds denoted the war that was being waged on the floor between me and Giovanni. My eyes adjusted, and could make out the struggling silhouettes of monsters clashing. In the background, Giovanni's unsmiling, emotionless face stared outwards, eerily lit up by the computer's glow.

The cries became louder, and then fainter, and then ceased. Only a single creature remained, breathing heavily. I recognized the heaving as my own Feraligatr's. Had he won?

"Magnemite, Flash," I heard ordered from across the room. A point in space lit up, blindingly, forcing me to shield my eyes and slowing my reaction down by a critical second.

"Now that that's done with," Giovanni stated calmly. He reached over, hefted a tube-like device, and aimed it at my Pokémon. A small flash erupted from its end, and then a large, room-illuminating flash exploded across Feraligatr's chest.

My Pokémon disappeared.

"Wonderful, it worked. If only we had this years ago."

"What did you do?! Where's my Pokémon?!"

"Your Pokémon?" he said bemusedly. "Don't you mean my Pokémon? He's right here." Giovanni held up a type of pokeball I'd never seen before. "A wonderful specimen, I'll be sure to put him to use."

"What are you talking about? Give him back or I'll gut you!"

"Snag balls are really incredible. They can capture any Pokémon, regardless of whether or not they belong to a trainer. We stole this prototype from some amateurs in Orre."

"You dirty rotten bastard!" I charged him, readying the other five pokeballs containing my team mates as I sprinted.

The adult sprang forward as well.

He's fast. Faster than I imagined. He's socked me in the stomach, and gotten me in a headlock, knocking my pokeballs away before they could be released. I struggled, but he was stronger than I thought a geezer pushing fifty could be. I couldn't do a thing.

"Settle down, brat," he commanded. I was flipped head-over and smashed into the ground. My head rang, as if a flash-bang grenade had gone off in front of my nose. Nothing made sense- my senses were knocked out- I was completely at his mercy.

It took an untold amount of time to regain my focus. The first thing I noticed was the thumb and forefinger of Giovanni making finger-snaps in front of my face, attempting to waken me. The second thing I noticed were the handcuffs chaining me to a pipe in the wall.

"You've gotten soft, I thought I taught you better than that. A battle's not over just because you knocked out the enemy's Pokémon."

Giovanni smiled, and made his way back to his desk.

"What are you going to do with me? Kill me, feed my corpse to the Weedle out in the forest?"

I wouldn't be the first, or twentieth, to suffer that fate.

"What? Kill my own son, in cold blood? You've watched too many gangster movies. Sit and wait there until you've calmed down, I have work to finish."

Like the cowed, weak, whimpering child I was, I obeyed. Peace and silence pervaded the atmosphere, interrupted only by the tapping of fingers upon a keyboard. My father paid me no mind at all, and I, head bowed, gave him no reason to.

This wasn't how I imagined things would happen. This wasn't who I imagined I had become. After experiencing so much, learning everything there was to know about Pokémon, about myself, and about the world, I felt like I had come far enough to stand before my father and face him like a man. There was no more need to stand under his shadow, quaking in my boots, and reduced to nothing more than a child; no reason to fear him- or so I thought. Yet here I am, handcuffed, afraid to speak, and feeling like a little kid at the complete mercy of an adult.

Had I accomplished anything this past year, anything at all? Where was my courage?! My fortitude? What good was trusting my Pokémon to be my strength when some damn gadget snatches them up like a vacuum?! I can't do anything on my own!

My thoughts reeled from one hopeless intercourse to the next, with absolutely nothing surfacing to reassure me it wasn't all in vain, all hopeless, that I had a single redeeming feature. I didn't notice Giovanni standing over me until a cold, hard instrument was pressed against my temple.

My eyes veered upwards, opening wide, as I recognized the muzzle of a gun pointed directly at my brain.

"Do you want to die?" he asked simply.

I bit my lip and did not, could not, answer. I was shaking up and down, my blood pulsing violently through my arteries.

"Doesn't look like it. I said I wouldn't kill you, but I don't trust you to keep your mouth shut to the authorities."

Oh shit, SHIT, he's going to kill me.

Damn it!

I don't want to die!

His hand went to my forehead, flicking sweat off the brow. He looked bemusedly at the disgusting slick on his fingers and the expression of terror on my face.

"Weak. Pathetic. Afraid," he muttered. "Not even worth killing."

He put the gun back in its holster and brought out a different weapon, a tazer. A flick of the switch, and it crackled ominously.

"This is to make sure you'll behave. Try to act out, and…" he brushed the thing lightly across my shoulder. The pain was instant and debilitating. I yelped, a high-pitched, undignified piercing sound, not even a man's scream. He waited until I calmed down and recovered, which wasn't long; the pain faded fast, on account of the brief exposure to the electrical prods. Giovanni made a gesture to indicate any outburst and I would be feeling the prods rammed down my throat.

"What do you want from me?" I asked in a small voice.

"Did you really think you could kill me? Or was that some sort of wild fantasy in your mind, like a comic-book anti-hero? Well? Answer me!"

Should I answer him? Would speaking my mind earn me a shock on the neck? Or would he see my through any lie I could concoct?

"I'm not like you, I wouldn't kill," I said.

Lance had made me vow to never kill a human or Pokémon, and I intended to keep that promise.

I looked up into my father's eyes.

"I just wanted answers."

My face reeled, pain and more than pain- damage- reverberated through my jaw. It wasn't the tazer. It was his massive hand crossing my cheek in one powerful motion.

"I hope you remember what happened the last time you meddled in grownup affairs."

I winced, as he took me by the wrist. The right sleeve of my coat was scrunched up, exposing my forearm. White scars crisscrossed the bare skin.

Giovanni nodded, satisfied.

"I'm sorry I abandoned you," he said solemnly. I tensed up, aghast.

He's apologizing?!

"I should not have left you with that woman. You didn't get the proper upbringing needed to be my heir."

No! Nothing he has ever said or done has ever been out of empathy. He has no soul. How could, for even a single moment, think he was going to show some kindness to me? Why had my heart jumped just for that?! What kind of idiot I am, for me to get my hope up so easily!?

Giovanni turned to return to his work. I gritted my teeth, and spoke up, halting him.

"I may be just a child, but I'm not an idiot. I know it wasn't some pissy little thing you were fighting over that night, was it? You were fighting over _me_."

Giovanni looked back over his shoulder.

"We were fighting for control of Team Rocket's future."

My teeth ground together until they hurt.

"So I'm just a pawn in your plans?"

He had nothing to say to that, and I, in my anger, continued.

"I would have been happy doing anything you asked! I would be your loyal Rocketeer standing right beside you, running the team and looting and thieving and causing mayhem, and morality be damned, as long as I could just have a dad and a mom to care for me! But you left me! Like I was nothing! Why?! WHY?!"

Giovanni slowly walked over, standing over me, and then grabbed me by the hair, yanking my head about until I was forced to face him. He leaned forward to bring his face right up into mine.

"You have such nice hair. Like your mother's. Did you know that? I loved that about her."

His smirk turned into a sneer.

"And I absolutely hated the way she conspired to take control of Team Rocket away from me. A bitchy, sneaky Ekans, is what your mother was. Even your very existence was a calculated act to gain leverage over me. Your mother gave me an ultimatum- I could have you, my son, or my team. I chose my comrades. There is nothing more to it. You've spent all time this seeking vengeance on me, and the one who's really to blame for your misery is the backstabber you got these scars trying to defend. Looking back on it, I find it amusing."

He released me and rose again.

"Still, it wasn't wasted effort. You've become an outstanding Pokémon trainer. I think I _will_ go with my original plan for you- whip you into obedience, teach you how to be a proper member of this organization, and maybe, one day, you can take the reigns from me. Object, and I'll just have you butchered."

My head hung low, I did not respond one way or another. It was impossible to. I didn't relish the idea of becoming his lackey, or participating in team Rocket's sins. But… It's a rare, stupid human who would be willing to die for the sake of standing by their beliefs, and I'm not one of them.

"Proton!"

"Yes sir?" A thin, drawn-out voice came from out of eyesight.

"Throw this child into the barracks and lock him in." My father eyed me for a moment. "Give him some time to think about what he wants to do with his life," he said with a chuckle.

* * *

I felt deadened, hollow, a husk of myself. I accepted the truth of his explanation immediately, as much as I hated it, because it was the exact truth I feared.

Mother never loved me unconditionally. Her every kindness, every tender affection, was always caveated, always predicated on getting something from me, whether it was my trust, or sympathy, or support. It was not until I ran away and had time away from her that I realized this.

But to think that my own birth was nothing more than a pawn of her desire to seize control of Team Rocket… it struck me to the core.

My father, and mother, from the very beginning, had betrayed me.

I had never felt such despair as that night, lying on a cheap cot, handcuffed, in the dark, hungry, scared, and silently screaming into the sheets.


End file.
